Fifty Is The New Dead For Men – Don’t Get Me Started!

It started over a month ago when beloved Vegas performer, Danny Gans died in his sleep. He was in his early fifties and seemed to be the picture of health then suddenly…dead. And now with both Michael Jackson and Billy Mays (Oxi-Clean Paid Programming Guru) passing away at the exact age of fifty, I started doing what any Jewish gay man getting closer to his fifties would do…I started getting worried, really worried. Fifty is the new dead for men – Don’t Get Me Started!

Although I’ve never been a paranoiac conspiracy theorist, I have to wonder why all these fifty year old men are dying, why now? Do we really all have bad hearts or are we all just so dependent on drugs (thank you pharmaceutical companies) that we’re over medicating ourselves into the grave? Although I don’t have multiple doctors writing prescriptions for me and I’m not on addictive pain killers I found myself getting really worried that neither of those things mattered. That the new die at fifty was what was going to happen to me regardless of my lack of addiction to painkillers, not using steroids or being a celebrity. It seems as though it’s only celebrities that are dying at fifty which is even more pressure because now I have to get to be famous in the next five years so that when I die at fifty someone will care. If that’s not enough pressure to give someone a heart attack, I don’t know what is.

The good news is that I’ve never bleached my skin or had a lot of plastic surgery and maybe those things attributed to Mr. Jackson’s death as much as whatever he was on or rehearsing a show to do what you did at twenty at fifty. And I haven’t built my house on cleaning products. (Although I did have a relative that was heavily into Amway and while he didn’t physically build his house with Amway products he found that he had to buy so many of the products to stay on whatever level he was on  that you couldn’t walk into that place without finding Amway products everywhere you looked. I mean he had so many boxes of Amway products in his house that if he had been more creative he would have made the boxes into the furniture. But I digress.) I don’t find myself screaming like Billy Mays…maybe it was all the screaming that caused Billy Mays to pass away.

Now for those of you who might thing that I’m insensitive I’m here to tell you that you’re wrong. I feel horrible for the families of these celebrities but come on, Michael Jackson will have memorials to beat the band and his sales are going to go through the roof. Billy Mays has become such a part of the culture that he managed to do what no one before him was able to do (which is make the world forget about Ron Popeil and the Ronco products – thought – Ron, get yourself a facelift and a trainer, here’s your chance to take back the infomercial and since you’re way past fifty, you’ve managed to make it past the die at fifty curse so you’re good for at least another ten to twenty years.).

But back to me, I think it’s definitely time to go to the doctor and at least get an EKG or something. I don’t know if I need to get on heart medication but maybe it is time to start listening to my mother who recently told me and my brother that we need to start taking aspirin every day for our hearts. She’s very worried about my current stress levels and convinced that a baby aspirin is going to cure all of it. I don’t know if that’s a modern panacea that everyone says it is but I did always like taking those St. Joseph aspirins when I was a kid. But maybe it was because I was the only kid who watched (and was reenacting scenes of it in my living room) the movie, Valley of the Dolls at eight years old. I do remember reading an article once in my twenties or something that you could die if you ate too many kids’ vitamins. I imagined myself biting off the heads of Dino and chewing one Barney after the other (who I always sort of had a crush on from the Flinstones, I think it was that surfer boy do he managed to sport way ahead of his time) eating Wilmas until I fell into a sugary kids’ vitamin coma. But as I’ve said before, once I realized I couldn’t be a teenage suicide statistic, it held no attraction to me.

Look, I don’t have any answers here I just have questions like everyone else. I don’t understand why it seems so many men are dying at fifty but there’s a part of me that thinks the cosmos is just trying to get rid of the over -population we have any way that it can and it’s starting with celebrities. Now that we seem to have enough medication to keep everyone alive almost forever, maybe nature is taking its course to get rid of us since we won’t go quietly like they did in Soylent Green when they went to the sleepotorium at a certain age and then become food for the masses that were younger. But whatever it is that’s happening I’ll be watching like everyone else but there’s a part of me that feels we’re all doomed, that fifty is the new dead for men – Don’t Get Me Started!

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What About Michael Jackson’s Kids? – Don’t Get Me Started!

The triple threat of death that happened this past week (Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson) was a big blow to those of us of a certain age. That age is mainly the forties. We grew up watching Johnny Carson’s sidekick and hoped some day that he would come to our homes with a really big check and balloons. Farrah Fawcett was on every boy’s bedroom wall (well, except mine which had Gene Kelly, Judy Garland and a few Broadway posters – of this you should not be surprised) and I think everyone was sort of amazed that she went on to do some really amazing dramatic work and then get as loopy as loopy can be when interviewed by the likes of David Letterman later in her life. Finally Michael Jackson was the sequined glove that broke our backs this week. Wow, I don’t remember a time when his music wasn’t in my life so it’s a little hard to imagine him gone. But by the same token, the photos we’ve seen of him over the past few years had him with those surgical masks, the wheel chairs and coming to court in pajamas so all indications were that he was not a well man (both physically and emotionally). Once the initial shock wore off I started thinking about those kids. Those kids with the names like “Prince Michael” “Paris” and “Blanket” names that are worse than those pseudo-African names with the apostrophes. So when everyone else is writing about Michael Jackson I want to know, what about Michael Jackson’s kids? – Don’t Get Me Started!

Now before you all get in an uproar, let me add the disclaimer that you may find some of what I write certifiable as one friend of mine used to describe me, NBA (Nasty But Accurate). My mother used to use a phrase that sticks with me to this day. You can use it when talking about an untalented performer or your friend who can never seem to get their clothes together correctly. “Where are you going to take an act like that?” And so I ask about the Jackson kids, “Where ARE you going to take an act like that?” They’re so used to wearing the veils and the heavy winter coats (even in the summer), don’t you think they’ll stick out a bit when they finally go to school or have to interact with anyone who doesn’t wear masks and veils? Maybe they need to go to the Middle East as they would feel more at home…or a hospital.

You can’t give the kids to Joe Jackson after all everyone knows he beat the crap out of his kids. You really want to give him a whack at making the grandchildren as wacky as his kids?  I guess you could give them to Michael’s mother but how good of a job did she really do? I mean, look at those kids for Chrissakes, it couldn’t all be Joe Jackson’s beatings that created that bunch, right? You can’t give them to LaToya because she’ll just trade their veils and masks in for those headbands that no one has worn but her since Olivia Newton-John became “physical” in the 80’s. Janet might be able to whip them into shape, giving them rock hard abs but she’s got enough going on with her own life and career. The rest of the brothers might be an option or what about Rebbie Jackson who we know is a sister but you never really hear about her? But don’t say Debbie Rowe should get them. Come on, do you think that Debbie whats-her-face-here’s-my-eggs Rowe is a fit mother? I mean she was the nurse at Jackson’s dermatologists and she basically rented her womb to the guy.

Let’s just face it these kids are not going to be easy to pawn off because they have no basis in reality. They need someone with some good insurance because there are going to be HUGE therapy bills. They are going to have to get a reality show or something so that they can continue the celebrity status life style to which they’ve grown accustomed. In actuality the only person who could have any idea of what they’re going through is Lisa Marie Presley. Aha, I’ve just come up with the answer. Let the kids live at Graceland in a Neverland wing and be on exhibit like the Elephant Man bones that Jackson supposedly bought at one point.

I know, you’re all livid with me right now. I should be thinking of the loss the children have suffered and believe me, I do. I feel really badly for those kids. The problem is that I don’t know if I felt worse for them when they were being hung out of hotel windows, walking around in the summer looking like refugees from Ellis Island in their winter coats or now that they are fatherless and will have to find a way to live with the fact that their father was one of the most famous people in the world. It won’t be easy but I still say, give them to Lisa Marie and let Priscilla at ‘em every now and again and they just may have a chance. What about Michael Jackson’s kids? – Don’t Get Me Started!

Patti Lupone In Vegas And What Were The Gays Thinking? – Don’t Get Me Started!

I don’t care if anyone accuses me of being a gay stereotype when it comes to certain things. And one of those things is Patti Lupone so when my guy surprised me with tickets to see her in concert (second row, no less) I squealed and clutched the imaginary pearls around my neck the way any self respecting gay would in this situation I was more than a little excited. Patti Lupone did not disappoint, as for an hour and half she sang her heart out and had the audience eating out of the palm of her hand. I wasn’t surprised at Ms. Lupone’s performance but I was surprised by the gays in the audience. Patti Lupone in Vegas and what were the gays thinking? – Don’t Get Me Started!

As we went to our seats, I had to laugh to myself. It seemed like some sort of convention. The row in front of us was filled with nothing but gays of a certain age as far as the eye could see (and two lesbians) and the row behind us was the same. I turned to my spouse to remark that it would almost appear that we were seated in the gay section but as I panned the rest of the audience it would appear that the “gay section” was indeed much larger than the first two rows. Sure there were some older people in the audience and a gaggle of young girls who were no doubt theatre students. I knew they must be such from their makeup and the tight t-shirts that couldn’t even begin to cover their bellies that read on the back, “Patti Lovers – We’ve Got Star Quality” – for the six of you reading this who don’t know the lyrics to “Buenos Aires”, a song from Lupone’s breakout performance in Evita – I’ll just say the phrase on the back of these t-shirts is a bastardized lyric from the show and leave it at that.

I don’t go to a lot of concerts, in fact I couldn’t even tell you the last one that I went to but this was sheer enchantment. Never sounding better, minimum patter in between songs and yet there was no need for patter because every song the woman sang was like a script. They each told a story. Some made you laugh, some made you cry and some just made you wonder what it must be like to possess all the talents that this one woman possesses. As the pianist began playing the familiar strains of Don’t Cry For Me Argentina, she raised her arms in the classic “Eva” pose and the audience went crazy. As the orchestra joined in I felt a lump in my throat because to hear her sing this song live was something that I had never had the opportunity to do before and might not again. She began softly, “It won’t be easy…” then suddenly she broke off from the singing and began a pointed monologue to someone sitting behind us in our section. Apparently someone had been either texting or videoing during the performance. She went on a small tirade about how disrespectful it was to her and the audience. It wasn’t as loud as when she went off during one of the final performances of Gypsy (from what I’ve heard) but let me just say you knew she meant business and rest assured you got the feeling she would cut you or anyone who interrupted the show again. On a side note, I think the world has lost its mind when it comes to seeing live performances. They text and take pictures and just don’t get it. The deal is that you’re not so important that you’re going to get any call or message during the performance that is so urgent that you can’t sit there and not be electronically attached to your phone so get over yourself and show a little class people. And as far as “pirating” audio I suggest you just buy the album like you’re supposed to as a decent human being. Ms. Lupone shook off the incident and went right back into her “Eva” pose, the music swelled and so did my heart. She was and is amazing.

At the end of the performance the audience leapt to its feet and remained there for the encores she performed but as I looked around at these people I began to notice that these gays had lost one major component to their gayness. They looked like a bunch of shlubs. In their shorts or ripped jeans with flip flops they all just looked a mess. Oversized polo shirts that had seen much better days or a shirt that was so wrinkled that it could only be described as my grandmother used to say to me when she saw me wearing a wrinkled shirt, “What? Did you pull that shirt out of a chicken’s ass?” Who were these gays with their mates looking worse than they did? They weren’t the young gays so I can chastise them for their youthful ignorance as the reason for this poor fashion parade. These gays made the stereotypical image of a Dad in his underwear with his hands down his pants on the couch look stylish. I was more than appalled at my fellow gays. Shame on all of you or anyone who goes to a theatre or live performance dressed like you’re going to the gym or picking up the morning paper. You’re not only making my eyes bleed with your bad choices but you’re depriving yourself of the total experience of live theatre. Live theatre is an event. So dress up, have a nice dinner before you go and for God sake, leave the phone in the car. And if you’re a gay all of the above isn’t a suggestion but a requirement. Don’t let the sloppy straightees influence what you wear, instead let Men’s Vogue instruct you. Or else this gay will cut you! Patti Lupone in Vegas and what were the gays thinking? – Don’t Get Me Started!

Are More People “Falling Through The Cracks” Or Am I Just Encountering More Of Them? – Don’t Get Me Started!

I see it every day now. There seem to be so many more people than I ever remember sitting on the side of the road with those cardboard signs. They range in message from “Need Work” to “Need Food” but all have that desperate message that can only be scrawled on a piece of cardboard. For awhile I managed to convince myself that the guy who was on the same corner every day and would walk among the traffic trying to make eye contact with those at the red light to try to get some money were just doing it because they were too lazy to pick themselves up and try to get a job. But the reality is that you can only fool yourself so long when you see how many people are out of work and not knowing when that pink slip may come to you. They can’t all be lazy and they can’t all be that desperate or can they? Recently I had two encounters that made me think a lot about this topic. Are more people “falling through the cracks” or am I just encountering more of them? – Don’t Get Me Started!

I’m not sure how the conversation started but we were out to dinner at a diner kind of place and at one point the waitress made some sort of comment about her arm being numb. Not sure how it came up or why she felt the need to share the following with two complete strangers but she did. Rather quickly we learned that she was a single parent and had been having this numbness for awhile. She didn’t have any insurance coverage but that wasn’t what stopped her from going to the doctor. What stopped her was that she didn’t want to go to a doctor while uninsured and get diagnosed with “something” because then when the day came that she could finally get insurance, whatever the doctor found would be listed as a pre-existing condition. Make no mistake about it, this girl didn’t think she was getting insurance any time soon but in her mind she didn’t want anything to jeopardize the possibility of her getting insurance if a possibility presented itself. I wanted to explain to her that it was more important for her to get someone to check her out so that she could find out if she had something to worry about (she confessed she laid awake nights thinking of all the debilitating things it could be) and more importantly, ensure she was healthy enough to continue being a parent to her child. I wanted to go online and find some sort of medical charity that would allow her to be seen, I wanted to take complete control of the situation but I knew that would be overstepping the customer/waitress relationship. So we did what we thought was the best thing, to listen. To let her get it off her chest to complete strangers, that seemed to be a help to her and yes, she got a much larger tip than I had originally planned to leave.

Last weekend I was pumping gas. When I pulled up to the pumps I saw an obese man who appeared to be in his fifties sitting on a garbage can at the end of the island where I was pumping my gas. As soon as I got the gas pump into my car I heard, “Sir? Sir? May I wash your windows for some change? I’m a diabetic and haven’t eaten today.” I explained that I didn’t need my windows washed. As I waited for the gas to fill my car, the man went on to explain his situation. He was owed money from the Arizona Unemployment Department (meanwhile we’re in Vegas so I’m sure I don’t get why he wasn’t in Arizona but that’s beside the point I guess) they were supposedly holding up his unemployment on some sort of technicality. I sat there watching the amount rise on the pump for the gas that was going into my car and while I watched my car get filled with gas my head was filled with one phrase and one phrase only and even though I don’t consider myself the most religious person on the planet, over and over again, in my mind the words, “There but for the grace of God go I.” As the man continued telling his story looking down, not making eye contact, mostly telling it to the air because I was transfixed on the pump, trying to somehow will it to go faster so that I could leave, he brought a piece of paper out to show me that he was being truthful. There could have been anything on that paper, I didn’t look at it but I could hear from the desperation in his voice that this was someone who probably hadn’t eaten today. I went into my wallet and handed him a $20 bill. He looked up and extended his hand. I put my hand in his and he just held it for a long while staring directly into my eyes. I was uncomfortable and the moment seemed to go on way too long. Never dropping my gaze he thanked me, blessed me and when I could break the contact and gaze I said, “Good luck, sir.” And as I got into my car and drove away again the words repeated, “There but for the grace of God go I.” Are more people “falling through the cracks” or am I just encountering more of them? – Don’t Get Me Started!

A String Of Pearls – Don’t Get Me Started!

There was a time (at least on television) the lovely housewife was always seen wearing a signature necklace of pearls. Whether she was doing light dusting or telling the cook, Beulah about what to make for dinner, the pearls were always the staple of her wardrobe, almost as much as that simple band around her finger that represented a life shared with one man, a circle with no beginning or end, like the love and cocktails they would share throughout their lives. I think when people think of “family values” and “simpler times” the image of that woman, that Donna Reed or Barbra Billingsley with their pearls is what comes to mind. Sure we would later find out that the pearls were almost like some sort of shock collar to women, keeping them from going out into the world to become self-realized because they were worrying about the pot roast instead of their inner psyche but this morning I went to Walmart and there was an older woman greeting people at the door with her bright blue polo shirt on just like everyone else but her hair was coiffed amazingly and around her neck? A string of pearls – Don’t Get Me Started!

I stared at this woman for a brief period. She seemed happy. She seemed as though you could put a dress on her and think that she was at a garden party or the matriarch of some family business and she was ruling with a knowing smile and wink. And yet there she was at the entrance to Walmart with a smile from ear to ear greeting each guest and making them feel as though they had just stepped into her home and that the fondue appetizer would be served any minute. I marveled at her. Not because she seemed almost from another time but because whatever time she was in, I wanted to be in it with her. I have no idea what her real life is or was, maybe she was a drug dealer who fell on hard times and had to get a job, maybe the pearls were fake. But I doubt those scenarios are true.  I’d like to believe (especially in these troubled economic times) that those pearls were the only material thing she owned of value, that they had been passed down for generations and when she lost her home to foreclosure, her husband of forty years to cancer and was forced to move into a one bedroom studio apartment and get a job, on her darkest nights those pearls illuminated her soul and let her know that no matter what happened around her she was still the lady her mother taught her to be and a survivor.

There was a time that it was considered garish to wear diamonds before you were forty (exception being the engagement ring). And I kind of feel the same way about pearls. Pearls are not for everyone. Clearly Barbra Bush worse those huge ones because it was either a support for her linebacker sized neck or because she just wanted to show that she had a neck. Wilma Flinstone’s pearls just looked like cement or something and very uncomfortable. And I believe there’s a myth that you’re not supposed to wear pearls on your wedding day because it will mean a marriage filled with tears. But I think the reason that some women shouldn’t wear pearls is because they simply haven’t earned them. On the reality show the Ladies of Windsor Hall they gave each girl a string of pearls and when they would be expelled they would have to return the pearls. I think they got the idea right; that you have to be a lady to wear pearls.

Am I putting too much emphasis on something that seems immaterial? Maybe the rest of the stuff we talk about is immaterial but in the hustle and bustle that is my life, with all that I try to juggle, seeing those pearls today made me stop, breathe and in some strange way believe that everything was going to be okay. Maybe that’s why when a gay hears something shocking (or let’s face it, wants to give an over the top reaction) they “clutch their pearls” (in other words, place their hand to their throat in disbelief in what would appear that they are clutching an imaginary strand of pearls around their neck) maybe it’s a comforting thing in some weird way or maybe we just saw Charles Nelson Riley do it on Match Game and it’s been passed down through the gener-gay-tions.

Obama’s Broken Promises To Those Of Us On The “G” List – Don’t Get Me Started!

Kathy Griffin talks about being on a “D” list as opposed to the Hollywood “A” list and it’s funny. But I’m on a list not so funny and much further down, not in celebrity but in life. I’m on the “G” list. That list of Gay Americans who are treated like less than second class citizens. Who pay more taxes to our government because we don’t get any of the tax incentives or breaks married people do and yet when it comes to having laws to give me equal rights I’m told to “be patient” when I don’t think straight people would be patient one bit if they were being treated as the gays continually are by lawmakers. So now President Obama has signed a memo stating that same sex partners of government employees can sign up for a special insurance program if their spouse has a long term illness such as Alzheimer’s and that they can take sick time if the child that they’re parenting is ill. Read that last sentence again and then tell me why anyone is surprised that gays and the people who love them or even just feel that they should have equal rights shouldn’t be upset and call the President out on this one. I don’t usually share intimately personal stories but I feel compelled in this case. My life on the “G” list – Don’t Get Me Started!

At my former place of employment, my spouse (of over twenty years who happens to be the same sex as me) was given health benefits through the employer of over 1500 employees. Of course the portion that the company paid in was added to my salary and I was taxed on those contributions at the end of the year but he had benefits and we were grateful. When I went to the company where I currently work they were such a small company that we found we had an obstacle. The state laws say that the insurance companies do not have to offer domestic partner benefits so they don’t unless the company has something like 100 employees. Not a problem, my partner went on Cobra and my very generous employer who feels that domestic partners should be covered, paid those payments. Eighteen months have passed and the company has not grown enough to make it worthwhile for the insurance companies to offer domestic partner benefits.  My partner’s insurance coverage through Cobra about to run out, I went to our insurance broker to find the best policy available for a “single” man of a certain age.

I handle the administration of the benefits for my current company and I was grateful that our broker agreed to assist me but I have to tell you, going through the process was what I imagine it’s like for anyone who has ever been discriminated against. As he explained the policy and how much it was going to be (almost double my insurance) because my spouse wasn’t part of a company plan or what have you I felt something that never happens at the office. I felt the tears welling in my eyes. Now while some may think of this as weakness or a gay who is unable to be a “man” about his emotions, I assure you that this is not the case. What hit me like a ton of bricks was that no matter how great my employer is or their intent, the laws are meant to keep gays below everyone else. You say it’s not a social discrimination like Blacks have had and I tell you you’re wrong. Don’t tell me that if I would just “straighten up and eat pussy” I could have anything I wanted. Don’t tell me I’m a sexual deviant. I’ve been with the same man (and only that man for over twenty years) I’ve devoted my life to him and he’s devoted himself to me. He’s been there for me in a way that some of you straight people could only wish for a spouse to care for you. And yet here I was hoping my partner would be “accepted” by the same insurance carrier that his current coverage is through and not knowing if he would get the insurance or not. (We’re still waiting to hear) While the married men in my office can quickly just jot down their wife’s social security number and date of birth, my spouse (and therefore I) am excluded from the club. While their wives could have every disease in the book and it not matter, we have to worry if the fact that my spouse has exercise induced asthma and is on medication for it will have to pay an additional 50% of the standard premium each month just to become an insured person with the carrier who has covered him for the past ten years. He’s never had a lapse in coverage, we’ve paid the dues and yet we’re still not a member.

So when Mr. Obama signs his name to a memo that basically gives a small percentage of the gays who work for the government two minor inclusions (all the while still dismissing them from service to their country and everything else) all it does is make me feel like I’m on the corner of the Monopoly board. I’m not “in jail” I’m “just visiting” but I basically have lost a turn. Gays have lost a turn and Mr. Obama has lost a turn. A turn to me equates to having a chance to begin to make things right for all Americans. The difference is that it is not a game, it’s my life and unfortunately for us gays we’ve watched as another lawmaker convinced us he would be different when he was taking our money and votes to get elected but then forgot about us once he got elected. How does it feel? It feels as I imagine it felt to stand at the gate like the immigrants did at Ellis Island, smelling the air that was free and hungering to begin working to make something of themselves in the land of opportunity but all the while being held back by a gate like cattle. How can I be anything but sad? I’ll be patient and wait and see what Mr. Obama does (or doesn’t do next), choking back my contempt and disdain but as with anything, if it keeps building up, when the flood gates open it’s going to get very, very ugly. My life on the “G” list – Don’t Get Me Started!

And When You Get Those 72 Virgins Oh Suicide Bomber, Will It Be Any Good? – Don’t Get Me Started!

From what I’ve read online and whatnot apparently the suicide bombers are promised that for giving their life here on earth to “the cause” that they will have 72 virgins waiting for them in heaven. So I started thinking, and when you get those 72 virgins oh suicide bomber, will it be any good? – Don’t Get Me Started!

Maybe it’s a gay thing but I just don’t get or understand this whole fascination with virgins to begin with. I’m not encouraging anyone to be a whore but it would seem to me that the person who has “done it” before might know a little more about it and in fact be much more interesting to be with (in the biblical sense) because they’ll know what they’re doing and may even teach you a few things. Yet I know there are plenty of straight men who still dream of marrying a virgin and/or gays who want to get a boy who has not yet been taught the ways of the flesh. Frankly, it all makes my skin crawl. Ugh. I mean if that’s what you criteria is there’s something wrong with you…in my opinion.

But back to the bombers and their virgins, I think that if we really want to stop the whole suicide bombing thing then we’ll get our Uncle Sam propaganda wagon on track and start “educating” the bombers on how not great the virgins will be. Here are some items I think we should cover.

1.       The virgin is a virgin for a reason, may not be all that attractive if she’s made it to heaven a virgin

2.       The virgin may be a virgin because they don’t want to have sex with you – be prepared to be hit on the head, scratched (and not in a sexual way) and do a lot of running because the virgin may not be easily caught

3.       Women tend to have their emotion close to the surface so imagine doing the nasty all the while the virgin is crying because you’re taking her virginity…not so hot, unless you’re a rapist (God forbid)

4.       The first time is rarely comfortable for anyone from an emotional or physical way and you only get to do it once and then she’s not a virgin anymore so just when you think she’s getting the hang of it, you’ll most likely climax, want to fall asleep but when you go back for seconds realize that you can’t because you can only have “virgins” and the one you just deflowered is no longer a virgin so onto virgin 65

I’m sure the list could be made longer and less appealing by some government office or something but those are just my initial thoughts.

Look, there’s nothing wrong with being a virgin here on the earth and good for you if you are but there’s a flip side to this whole thing that I don’t think the suicide bomber is thinking about and just maybe if we educated them they would reconsider their big promised reward for giving up their life and we could cut down on the innocent lives that are lost due to suicide bombers. Just a thought and when you get those 72 virgins oh suicide bomber, will it be any good? – Don’t Get Me Started!

Discover How Fabulous You Are – Don’t Get Me Started!

It dawned on me the other day when I was creating the latest video for my video blog, Forty-Something Gay that I think what comes easy to us we tend to take for granted. I started a series on explaining gay icons and what I discovered was how much I knew about certain old Hollywood celebrities and how natural it was for me to talk on camera about them. (See the first in the series here…  http://hubpages.com/hub/Gay-Icons-Explained-Judy-Garland-Forty-Something-Gay--ep60) Now I’m not talking about jobs or cars or something material. What I’m talking about are our innate abilities that I think we take for granted. That’s right, believe it or not, even though you may not think you have talent (a lot of people equate the word, “talent” to mean you can sing, dance or juggle a ball on your nose, this is not the type of talent I’m talking about here) the truth is that if you take some time I think you’ll discover you have talents that make you who you are and good at a lot of things. Discover how fabulous you are – Don’t Get Me Started!

The thought process began a while ago for me. You see, what I tend to take for granted or think is, “Gee, I’m nothing special. Anyone could do what I do.” I realized is not the truth. I used to have an expression when I was doing theatre. It was, “Everyone is replaceable and usually by a trained animal.” But the truth of the matter is that this simply isn’t so. Although I didn’t spend years and years in an academic setting, I learned that the most precious things I know are things that just came natural to me, that are almost a part of my DNA but because they come so easily to me, I tend to make the mistake in thinking everyone else can do what I can do. That’s where our thinking (and low self esteem monitors) go way off the charts.

For example, if you gave me a piece of music and forty kids I could choreograph and teach a number in about an hour. It would take in the complexities of the kids being at different levels of dancing ability, create patterns and movement that not only filled the stage but would use the accents in the music to make it all make sense. This is just how I “see” music. When I listen to a piece of music whether it is on the radio or on my iPod, I see a body (or bodies) moving to it and almost as if it’s my subconscious doing it, I just choreograph the number in my head. For years I worked with both professional dancers and kids who had no training at all in theatres, studios and school systems.  But the thing is that because it comes so easily to me, I think that anyone must be able to do what I do. If I take the time to think about it, I know this is not the case but my initial reaction is the above.

So, how do you figure out just how fabulous you are? Don’t take what you do (or more to the point the things that you can do) for granted. I’ve always been bad at math. The year my brother was third in the state for mathematics I failed geometry. I can add a group of numbers up six times and get six different totals. I can’t draw a straight line even with a ruler. I’ve tried and tried but no luck. The same can be said for cutting anything – never a straight line. These may not seem like a big deal to you but I can assure you they are annoying as hell to me and anyone who can do any of the above I think is as talented as the Spielberg is at making movies.

Stephen Sondheim wrote a song that I think explains someone who doesn’t understand just how talented they are and at the same time longs to be able to do what they think everyone else can do but they can’t, Anyone Can Whistle. Some of the lyrics are, “Anyone can whistle, that’s what the say – easy. Anyone can whistle, any old day – easy. It’s all so simple. Relax, let go, let fly. So someone tell me why can’t I?...What’s hard is simple, what’s natural comes hard. Maybe you could show me how to let go, lower my guard, earn to be free. Maybe if you whistle, whistle for me.”

So here’s a partial list from me:

·         I can troubleshoot most situations – having worked in live theatre, I can usually assess a situation and make changes as needed to at least get things back on track – on stage and in life

·         I can teach, choreograph and direct people – this is not only in my theatre days but as I became a Director of Training in the corporate world, I discovered that it wasn’t all that different from teaching a four year old how to tap and a CEO how to understand communication or other techniques.

·         I’m extremely organized and can multi-task like there’s no tomorrow – my partner always jokes that I must have had the neatest notebook in high school. Then he adds, “you could have been failing every class but you had the best notebooks.”

·         I’m a really good caregiver – I excel in the hospital environment or listening to a friend – this has also come in handy in the corporate world, as an Executive Assistant, I’ve discovered that my ability to anticipate and care for the CEO or the people in the office for a meeting has an enormous impact on the business deal

·         I can write thoughts that evoke an emotional response from people – thanks to the Internet and the comments people leave, I think this is another talent I possess

So what’s your list? What is it that is so simple for you to do and that you take for granted? I encourage you to take some time with yourself and figure this list out because once you know the things that come easy and understand that these are talents that you possess you can determine what of those things your most passionate about and perhaps even make a career out of it. Discover how fabulous you are – Don’t Get Me Started!

Your Mirror Called, It’s Hoping You’ll Take A Good Long Look At Yourself – Don’t Get Me Started!

Before you all get on your high horses and send me the kind of hatemail (that’s hate and email put together folks) that can only be produced by women who love to tell us men how wrong we are (see my blog regarding going sleeveless over forty here http://hubpages.com/hub/Do_Not_Go_Sleeveless_After_Forty_Just_Trust_Me_On_This_One) I just want to say that I’m only telling you this for your own good. And it’s not just for women it’s for men too so save the sexist comments. Your mirror called, it’s hoping you’ll take a good long look at yourself – Don’t Get Me Started!

I just can’t take it anymore. I can’t take looking at people who are wearing the same hair and clothes since they were in high school and now they’re in the forties and beyond. You don’t look adorable in your oversized Tweety bird t-shirt with the denim Capri pants underneath that make your calves look more like the Incredible Hulk after he got angry than fashionable. Gentlemen, you too are victims of your own sense of style that was created from the crinkled up clothing in the back of your drawer for a hundred years. That polo shirt tucked in over your enormous stomach is not a pretty look nor is the ripped up NASCAR or Rush t-shirt that has so much meaning to you but to no one else. It’s official that you also may no longer wear the elastic waist pants that “bodybuilders” wore in the late 1980’s that fall somewhere between M.C. Hammer pants and almost always have a pattern on them that is faded more than your bad hair from the 80’s.

My mate has a theory. That theory is that people get stuck in whatever time period they felt the most attractive. While you may say that the insecurities you feel in high school make that period out of the question, on the contrary, this was the last time you were probably a size four (or for guys a 30 inch waist) so you cling steadfast to the look that you think you saw in the mirror when you were eighteen and are still duplicating it every morning. Let’s face it, by nature we’re creatures of habit. We can’t help ourselves. More than once I’ve mentioned the fact that for very long periods I tend to only look at myself in the mirror from the sternum up. I can’t imagine looking any further down for what I might see (and in how much abundance). I could absolutely be gangrene from the neck down and never know it. My hands move as if on their own accord as they style my hair the way it’s been styled for so long now. For some people, this “routine” or by now “ritual” they perform happens every morning at the same time in the same way and yet the truth of the matter is that your hair is getting thinner, your face is getting wrinkled and no one has worn high bangs like that since Frankie went to Hollywood. While you may be doing the same thing you always have, you’ve changed physically so it does not look the same.

It’s not an easy thing to look at yourself and an even harder thing to accept what you see but I learned a little while ago that keeping that size 30 waist pair of pants in my closet was just taking up space physically and mentally. Mentally, every time I looked into that closet and saw them I was reminded that I no longer was this size and while in year one or two I was able to fool myself that someday I would get back into these pants by year three I felt defeated just opening the closet or knowing they were there. And so they went to Goodwill where I’m sure they did someone else much more than they were doing for me in my closet.

I’m not saying that you can immediately start looking at yourself in a mirror and accept what you see but those of us of a certain age must begin the process, yes? I for example recently ventured a look below my sternum only to find out that of the few hairs I have on my chest there was one gray one that was so long that it most likely crawled its way out of every V-neck shirt I ever wore. Nice appearance, right? This instantly made me my father who has a jungle of hair on his chest and it is constantly sticking out of every shirt so much so that he looks like a stuffed animal wearing a t-shirt two sizes too small. Discovering that you’ve become your parents is another topic for another day but this hair was definitely a reminder that similar to Gene Wilder in Young Frankenstein where he’s having a nightmare and keeps chanting, “Destiny, destiny, no escaping that’s for me.” We all, like it or not become our parents a little or a lot. Long story short, the hair on my chest got shorter too. I cut it to a nub. So even though it’s the last thing I want to do, I can’t help but feel a little more evolved for having taken that look in the mirror a little lower than I had before. It won’t be like tearing off a Band-Aid but you gotta do it ‘cause I can’t look at you and your stuck fashion, style and life sense (and neither can anyone else). And if you think we’re judging you, you’re right. And guess what? You didn’t even make it past the preliminaries to become a finalist (pageant reference).  Your mirror called, it’s hoping you’ll take a good long look at yourself – Don’t Get Me Started!

Boy Those Lesbians Sure Have It All, Don’t They? – Don’t Get Me Started!

So I’m watching a lesbian get her child out of the car seat. Now before you begin to wonder how I knew she was a lesbian, she had arms the size of my waist (heavily tattooed) but more telling was the rainbow bumper sticker on the back of the vehicle. Not a rainbow like the kind that has a unicorn running through it or Mork’s suspenders but the rainbow (that frankly I abhor) you know the one I’m talking about, the stereotypical symbol that someone came up with for supposedly representing all gays (not me). It says Judy Garland, “Over The Rainbow “ and gays come in all different colors like The Wiggles or a Benetton ad all with the swoosh of Roy G. Biv (as I was taught in grammar school to remember the colors of the rainbow, it’s an acronym to help you remember the colors of the rainbow – Red Orange Yellow Green Blue Indigo Violet) at any rate I knew the woman was a lesbian (and I’m sure she knew it too). But as I watched the dyke (and I mean that in the most loving way) get her tike out of the Jeep, I couldn’t help but be a little bit jealous. Boy those lesbians sure have it all, don’t they? – Don’t Get Me Started!

First let me say to anyone who says that gays aren’t made chemically in the womb they need to take a look at an effeminate man (yes, I include myself) and then a butch lesbian. If God didn’t intend us to be this way he would have given us each other’s bodies (and not in the Biblical sense). Sure there are girly lesbians and butch gay boys (well, until they open their mouths and you’re suddenly worried that the lisp isn’t a lisp at all but their bicep leaking). But I can’t help but be jealous of the lesbians who have those boyishly muscular bodies that I always thought would just come on its own to me in the middle of the night. I guess I imagined it like Toby McGuire the morning after being bitten by the atomic spider in Spiderman. You know, his arms start to bulk up, his waist tighten and even when he’s not in his big built up scenes at least he has a swimmer’s build. Well, try as I might to find a spider like that I’ve yet to find one so alas, I’ve been stuck with the body that I crafted by not going to the gym as much as I should if I was really serious about it. Meanwhile, the lesbians are either blessed with those broad shoulders or a gym chromosome that makes them actually want to and like working out. Ugh.

Lesbians can have kids…well, easier. I mean, they have the equipment so all they have to do is find some sperm lying around and BINGO! They’re pregnant. We gays don’t have it nearly as easy and for those who say that we’ve got it made because we can’t get one another pregnant or carry a baby, trust me, there’s a flip side to that and for any gay with guilt, I can tell you sometimes you just think your sperm is wasted ending up on sheets that need to be washed or on the ceiling or walls. The point is that if I could get maternity leave, I’d have a baby tomorrow.

For some reason, the white men who run this country (thank God, the times they are a-changing with regards to this) but there’s still a huge industry (and millions of teenage, college and grown boys) who think two women together is hot and two guys together are not. How hot? Hot enough that they fantasize about it and while I’m sure there are five women out there who might possibly fantasize about two men together (albeit servicing the woman not each other) the fact remains that most straight guys get the heebie jeebies when imagining two guys together but two women are somehow easier to accept for them. Though I’m sure if they ever got two women in their bed they’d have no clue how to handle any of the proceedings.

Now before you lesbians get all mad at me, just put your protein shake down for a moment and think about it. You know in your heart of hearts that what I’m saying is true. While you have cool role models like Melissa Etheridge and Rosie O’Donnell we’ve got Lance Bass. Need I say any more? There’s a large part of me that is really happy for you but give a gay a break, sometimes just sometimes when I see you coming out of your Jeeps with your kids can’t I be a little jealous? Boy those lesbians sure have it all, don’t they? – Don’t Get Me Started!

Did The “Joneses” That Everyone Was Supposedly Keeping Up With Ever Exist? – Don’t Get Me Started!

This past weekend I went to get my car washed. As I sat there with the rest of the lazy asses who would rather pay someone else to do what used to be called “chores” sat there on their phones texting or talking I looked at the people and then I looked at the cars. You could almost tell exactly which car belongs to what person. There were the families and there were the mid-life crisis guys with their sports cars. And so I began to think about how we all got into the current financial situation of spending beyond our means. Of thinking we deserved a car that we couldn’t possibly afford because we were worth it even if we weren’t worth it when it came to our bank accounts. That thought took me to the “Joneses.” You know the “Joneses” that everyone has supposedly been trying to keep up with for decades? And so I wondered did the “Joneses” that everyone was supposedly keeping up with ever exist? – Don’t Get Me Started!

You know how therapists have made millions teaching women about the horrors of believing in the prince on the white steed? Maybe the Joneses are just as fictitious as the prince in those fairy tales. Maybe they were created by some smart advertising executive back in the 50’s as a way of selling the latest and supposedly greatest product. I’m a sucker for packaging as much as the next guy and maybe that’s what happened to America for all these years but as you start to realize and look around, you discover that the cliché is true, that grass may look greener next door but it’s actually crawling with weeds and bugs of all kinds.

Who were we preening for anyway? Buying things we couldn’t afford with money we didn’t have, what has it gotten us? Sure we could blame the financial system and the greedy nouveau rich at the top of corporations but shouldn’t we all take some of the blame and shouldn’t we all, for lack of a better term, wake up?

First of all, according to the census bureau, in a few years it won’t be the Joneses (the white picketed house, white family with 2.5 children) we’ll be trying to keep up with, it’s going to be the Rodriguez’ we’ll be trying to keep up with because Hispanics will outnumber the whites here in America. But hopefully the Rodriguez’ will be better role models than the Joneses have been for all these years. I mean what did the Joneses get us but in debt? And when you look at Hispanic families you usually tend to see people who put family first and hard work a close second. They’ve been treated poorly but never seemed poor in spirit. Yes, maybe the Rodriguez’ is just what America needs. Maybe it’s not going to be “there goes the neighborhood” but “wow, we finally have a neighborhood.” A sense of community we haven’t experienced in a long time in this country.

Look I’m sitting in my glass house throwing stones waiting for a window to break, I know it. I have Tom Ford sunglasses that cost more than my pocketbook would allow but by the same token I have a car that’s paid for in full. So while I may be pretty caught up in the fantasy of the Joneses I’m doing my best to try to find the balance. To try and get as much out of debt as possible but by the same token you can’t expect me to stop cold turkey. So I’m sure there will be some items entering my life that are probably above my station (as they used to say) but if you don’t dream or push yourself out of your comfort zone a little, don’t you risk becoming apathetic? I just have to hope that I can discipline myself when it has been impossible in other aspects of my life. I can’t sit down and not eat an entire sleeve of Girl Scout thin mint cookies so I gorge myself once a year and don’t bring stuff like that in my house the rest of the year. Maybe that’s what we all need to do. Maybe we just need more willpower and portion control in our lives. I’m going to at least try to make that happen and at the very least, I’m going to stop looking over my shoulder to see if I can see that new car, boat or Blu-Ray player that the supposed Joneses just bought. Because frankly, the Joneses are a bunch of saps! Did the “Joneses” that everyone was supposedly keeping up with ever exist? – Don’t Get Me Started!

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Help You Are So NOT A Celebrity – Don’t Get Me Started!

I can’t remember if I watched all of it or not but I do remember watching a couple of the episodes of Help, I’m A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here when Melissa Rivers was on so my mate thought it was worthy of putting it on the Tivo for the premier episode. Let me just say that I have never watched the MTV sensation, “The Hills” and now after meeting Heidi and Spencer on the new season of Help I’m A Celebrity I can safely say that not only will I never watch it, I can’t be friends with anyone who watches it either. The cast of Help this season is the least known group of celebrities I’ve ever seen in my life but that’s not the real problem, the real problem is a much larger one that has to do with the idolatry of spoiled rich kids who get their own reality series and feel they are much more important than they really are. Help, you are so NOT a celebrity – Don’t Get Me Started!

So you know the premise, right? Take celebrities and then send them camping into the jungle for three weeks. All the while a host and hostess take you into commercial breaks. The host is the most boring nobody you ever met and per the current Hollywood rulebook, the co-host is a female with breasts who speaks with an accent. I don’t know what it is about every hostess on American television having to have an accent but I’m just hoping that England, New Zealand (or wherever these no talent sluts come from) that these countries are hiring plenty of American girls in their country to host their shows…just for the accent.

If Kathy Griffin is a “D List” celebrities than these people fall somewhere in the “L, M, N, O, P” list of celebrities. To me, the only real celebrities on the show are supermodel Janice Dickinson, John Salley (NBA) and Lou Diamond Phillips. The rest of the cast is comprised of a heavyset black female comedy duo, one of the Baldwins (the one who found Jesus and the right wing so that he could get some publicity and act like he had an acting career), a female wrestler, Sanjaya from American Idol (who can’t keep his shirt on but should), the couple from the Hills and in the least celebrity category, the wife of ousted Illinois Governor, Rod Blagojevich, Patty (her husband was originally slated for the show but the judge wouldn’t let him leave the country for filming).

While Heidi and Spencer have to be the most annoying with their hissy fits, crying, threatening their fellow cast mates and to leave the show their more quiet moments consist of them sleeping while everyone’s working and plotting revenge on everyone. Oh yeah, and when they’re not doing all of the above, they’re praying to Jesus. This last thing is perhaps my favorite thing. Of all the Christians who don’t act anything like Christians, it’s Heidi and Spencer. They are my new poster children for the Born Again Christian movement. And for those of us who aren’t real thrilled with the Born Agains, we should start putting these two on posters immediately. They plot, plan and act like spoiled children then they lock hands, close their blue eyes real tight and pray to Jesus. Trust me when I say, if Jesus is listening to these two at all, he’s doing it while rolling his eyes so much that he’s got to have a headache.

If I were a parent (and we all know I’m not) there would be only one show outlawed in my house and it would be “The Hills” (although I’ve never seen it, I saw enough from this show last night) I would never want my child to think that A) this is something to aspire to, B) that all people with money have no interest for anything but themselves, and C) that being a celebrity for the sake of being a celebrity is more important than anything. As Spencer was throwing his fit on the phone with the producer talking about how he’s more famous than anyone on the planet and the “brand” he’s created of himself I could only hope that a coconut might fall out of a tree and knock some sense into him. He’s the reason kids no longer aspire to be something but instead to be somebody on television with a stylist. “Family” organizations that want to take shows off the air that show sex or violence to protect their children have got it all wrong. I’d be going after shows like The Hills because I think it’s much more damaging. I don’t find it funny that these people are glorified for no reason other than the fact that someone turned a camera on them. In fact, it disgusts me.

I’ve said it before, I look at my Tivo like a hot nightclub, it’s always full so no one gets in until someone leaves. Now with the wrapping up of shows like American Idol (So You Think You Can Dance took its place) and Dancing With The Stars, I have a couple of open spots for new television programming but Help I’m A Celebrity made it into my Tivo club and then was promptly thrown out for not entertaining properly. I don’t have a dress code for my Tivo but you have to at least entertain to get in it! I’m sure there are some who will watch this show (The Hills and Help I’m A Celebrity) but when I think of all that’s wrong with America I’ll think of the fact that as a gay man I don’t have equal rights, that we have people losing their homes and livelihoods, that we don’t have decent universal health care for our citizens and that Spencer and Heidi have two television shows on the air. Help, you are so NOT a celebrity – Don’t Get Me Started!

P.S. I guess that Spencer and Heidi have left the show now…thank you, Jesus!

Should The Egg Bagel Be On The Endangered Species List? – Don’t Get Me Started!

Some might say that being Jewish has nothing to do with it but then I would disagree with those people (not uncommon if you read my blogs). On a recent Sunday morning I decided that although I’m a good 25 pounds overweight and knew it would throw me into a day of on the sofa sleeping and cable, I didn’t care, I was going to have a bagel with lox, cream cheese and the whole dealio.  Now I have refrained from having these fixings (aside from a sad jar of capers from 1972 in my frige) so I knew I would have to go somewhere and just have them make my guilty pleasure for me. After debating the empty calories I was about to consume with my spouse (who eats anything he wants and still remains firmly intact) I asked if he wanted anything. All he was looking for was an egg bagel. Simple enough, right? Apparently not so simple, not so simple enough to make me wonder, “Should the egg bagel be on the endangered species list?” – Don’t Get Me Started!

I had other errands to run but make no mistake about it, the bagel business was the most important. I went to Einstein Bagels (who for those four people who don’t know, is a big chain bagel emporium). As I ordered my bagel with lox (the part I was going to be the more difficult) the boy with the plastic gloves took my order and then when I asked for the egg bagel he just stared at me. Finally words formed and he said, “We don’t make egg bagels.” Hmmm. Well, I wasn’t going to leave without my bagel and lox so I decided to get that there and then go to the grocery store across the street for the egg bagel (they have their own bakery in the grocery store where they make their own bagels). I walked to the bakery department at the back of the grocery store to find that much like Old Mother Hubbard, the cupboard was bare. That’s right, apparently they hadn’t made the bagels for the day yet so strike two. As I walked disgustedly out of the grocery store to my car it dawned on me that what I should have done all along was to go to the Jewish deli for all of it. You see other than the Bernie Madoff incident, we Jews know that when it comes to certain things you should only trust a fellow Jew. So as I raced into the deli and sailed past the old Jews who were hacking, arguing that the price of ruggulah had gone up four cents, I found a counter guy who was free. As he asked me what I wanted, I looked down only to find the basket that normally held the egg bagels was empty. In fact it was the only empty basket in the entire case which housed something like twelve hundred baskets of bagels that ranged in variety from plain to spinach with feta cheese. I’m sure my face had that look of a woman in her forties who has raised her kids and just found out she’s having twins (okay, a little too Desperate Housewives even for me). I guess the guy behind the counter saw my devastation when he told me they were sold out because he quickly agreed to go to the back to see if there were any more. When Jacob, Solomon or whatever the hell Jewish name this kid had came from the back with a full basket of egg bagels I wanted to not only thank him but move in with his parents (this deli is in a very influential neighborhood and I’m sure Jacob’s parents were loaded. Who cares that he wasn’t gay or that I wasn’t in the market, I was all ready imagining his mother’s brisket for Friday night dinner and whitefish on Sundays).  And just like it made you uncomfortable reading that, it did the same for Jacob, he told me to meet him at the front counter to pay.

Now some may think that it was just my timing for the grocery store, my inability to be observant the last time I went to Einstein Bagels that they didn’t carry egg bagels but that is just too easy an answer. No, I’m not sure why but I think that there’s some dastardly plan in place to rid the world of egg bagels. Maybe they’ve discovered that bagels just don’t like to mate with eggs, I mean anything is possible, right? But I can’t sit back quietly and do nothing. I must kvetch. I kvetch to know that I’m alive. And who knows, maybe it’s just that egg bagels are so popular that they’re the first to go and they’re not on an endangered list at all but I can tell you this, the next time I want anything bagel oriented, I’ve learned my lesson. No more grocery stores or chain bagelries for this Jew, nope, I’m going direct to the source (like us Jews do, we’re all about G-d, not his son – always go to the Jew in charge) next Sunday when I need bagels I’ll do what we Jews always talk about on the holidays…Next Sunday in the holy land…the deli! Should the egg bagel be on the endangered species list? – Don’t Get Me Started!

Nevada Assembly Overturns Governor’s Veto To Clear The Way For Domestic Partnership – Why Am I Not Happier? – Don’t Get Get Me Started!

On Sunday night the Nevada Assembly overturned the veto from Nevada Governor, Jim Gibbons to clear the way to allow Domestic Partnerships to be legal in Nevada. The law will take effect in October of 2009 and while I saw all the celebrating and got the emails this morning from all the gay rights associations about what a great thing it is I found myself much less happy than I’m thinking I should be about this law.

Make no mistake about it, it’s a step forward in a state where the inhabitants voted overwhelmingly a few years ago to pass into law that marriage is only between a man and a woman. This Domestic Partner law will help us get into hospital rooms and a few other things but they are making sure that everyone knows that this is NOT the same as marriage, shouldn’t  be considered to be so and all ready the opposition is painting posters. Employers will not be required to provide health benefits for Domestic Partners nor will there be any sort of tax break or any of the other rights afforded married couples but we can now “register” with the state. I don’t know about you but there’s something about having to be registered that makes me feel more like a pet or Jew in Nazi Germany. So I have to ask myself, “Why when I should be so happy am I so disgusted and leery?”

I guess I’m just really tired of being given crumbs and told that they’re the cake. It’s like finally getting to sit at the big table instead of the kids’ table at Thanksgiving only to find out that you have the table leg hitting you so you practically have to sit side saddle all night with your two legs so tight together that they’re cracking your nuts and your cousin that you only see once a year now thinks you’re flirting with them because you’re practically in their lap. (Awkward when there’s no inbreeding in your family) Sure you’re at the big table but the experience isn’t what you’d always dreamed it would be and in reality it’s miserable. I guess that sort of sums up why I’m not as happy as my one out gay legislator or the Human Rights Campaign is telling me to be. They’re telling us it’s going to make a huge difference that we can tell a hospital that we’re the “spouse” yet we’re only a spouse because we’ve been registered and we really have no other spousal rights because that seems too much like marriage and we all know that this is not a marriage because marriage can only be between a man and a woman according to the other law on the books in Nevada. Confusing? It is to me.

I’m confused that laws seem to just be a series of loopholes and pay offs. Even when the loophole is in my favor it makes me disappointed in our legal system. How can there be one law on the books that says I’m not married but another one that says I’m a spouse? I want to see a real document that shows what you get if you’re married and what I’m going to get for registering as a Domestic Partner. Then I want everyone to look at this list and ask themselves if the registry is really giving gays rights or just having us put our names on a list that we’re gay and living together so that we can become the target of additional discrimination because we’re registered with the state? Paranoid? I’m a Jewish gay man living with a black man for the past twenty years, I think all of the above has earned me the right to be cautious when it comes to being told that I’m being treated equally…well, almost.

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